Long Live the King
by Lozzpots
Summary: A hopeless and anxiety ridden Hans is being taken back to the Southern Isles as a prisoner for his notorious crimes in Arendale. But what will become of him after an unlikely friend gives Hans the confidence he needs to put himself back together?


Hi guys, This is my first fanfic here, sorry about how its written in some spots, I've been going through a bad and stressful time and just wanted to just write and write until it was there so I could publish something here. Thanks for looking, means a heap... Enjoy! :3

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Unsettled water moaned and slammed against the sides of the wooden ship as clouds the colour of stone blanketed the skies. In the lowest compartment within the ship, containing the sea equivalent of a dungeon huddled a shivering body. His brown hair that once shined with a glamorous red tint now hung over his brow, as if it were a symbol of his pride. The clothes he wore gave a vile odour despite the obvious high class, aristocrat image. The once white naval jacket, now complete with blood stains and filthy smudges lay over his legs, providing what warmth it could. In silence he sat as the boat rocked and the crew stomped above. Thoughts of where they were headed filled his mind, robbing him of the silence.

The sound of his mother's sweet voice, once known for its virtuous play in songs now wailed in agony. The shame he had brought their country, their people and the royal family would be unforgettable. The stern face of his father's continuous disappointment clutched and clawed at his mind. He could almost hear the sneaky whispers off his elder brothers as he passed them in the corridors.

As if bewitched, his eyes clenched shut and stayed tightly scrunched no matter the effort to re-open them. It was as if an unseen force had stitched his eyelids to his cheeks, thus compelling him to absorb his family's reactions. Control had left him. Perhaps due to the anxiety of returning home from Arendale, or perhaps it was from the dark, confined space that had become his un-leave-able living quarters. Either way, his mental state had begun to show its corrosion.

Just as his body began to jerk uncontrollably, footsteps made their way down the wooden planks used as stairs, snapping his attention into focus on reality once more. A larger, middle aged man had emerged from the staircase, carrying a bowl, its contents unseeable.

"Prince Hans," the larger man grunted, addressing the prisoner.

Hans stared a wide eyed stare, his fingers fidgeting at the jacket that was being used as a blanket. The crew member stood and watched the dishonoured prince fidget and twitch, sympathy and uncertainty clouding his mind.

"Urgh, here… your majesty," he mumbled as he placed the bowl on the ground between the bars of Hans' cell.

The man stood and stared at Hans as silence swallowed the room. The contents of the bowl were now in seeing distance, but were still unknown. It looked close to porridge but obviously not hot. The dirty white slop though unappealing in looks, couldn't have appeared as a more beautiful sight to Hans' stomach. The awkward silence that gripped the atmosphere broke as Hans began to chuckle a small chuckle. "I think that's the last time I'll ever be addressed as such."

Looking at the floor, as if unable to stare at Hans any longer, perhaps in fear of making eye contact the man spoke. "With all due respect… you're still a prince of the Southern Isles… no matter your crimes. So I think it's my duty as a civilian of that country to respect you in the way it's expected."

"I think that's what makes it funny," Hans replied while dragging himself over to the bowl of hopefully nutritious value slop.

"Excuse me, sir?"

After scooping a small handful of the lumpy gruel into his mouth Hans swallowed and replied "You said you want to respect me because it's expected… I find that amusing as, I can assure you, it's no longer expected of anyone, Southern Isles or else... Hence the cage."

The food bringer pondered a moment as Hans continued to fill his mouth with small handfuls, his eyes glued in the direction of his feet. "I understand your words… yet I have to disagree with the reaction of the people."

Hans halted his small feast. "I'm sorry?" His eyes stared up at the average looking commoner with complete and utter confusion.

"Your highness is now a prisoner within your own naval fleet- your rightful position of power is under question by your own men, as well as being forbidden to return to the kingdom of Arendale… and for what? For taking charge and protecting the people of its land, as commanded of the princess? I'm sorry, my lord but I disagree with the outcome of your generosity."

Once more, a silence took over the room. Hans faced the man with a dumbfounded expression as his new friend refused to make eye contact.

"Well my friend, you make me sound knightly, complete with performing heroic deeds." Added Hans sarcastically, breaking the silence before lightly chuckling in disbelief.

"I don't see the other side of the story, your highness," the balding, middle aged man interrupted Hans' laughter, his words like a desperate plea to be understood.

Eyeing the man on the other side of the cell walls thoroughly, Hans bit his lip in thought. After an uncomfortable amount of time Hans inquired about the man's name. It was Wilhelm.

Hans wobbled as the effort to stand was straining on his weakened body, "Well, Wilhelm," his hands gripped the iron bars for support as he rose "I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell my father how you see the story, would you?" he joked.

The two men laughed as they shook hands through the bars. Hans felt confidence and control wash back into his body after the talk with Wilhelm. He may not be a powerful friend, but by having this friend, Hans gained power again.


End file.
